Don’t Go Breaking My…Wrist! 🤕

I meant to write about this months ago – it was to be my triumphant return to blogging. But at the time I felt too miserable and sorry for myself. Oh, and I couldn’t type – that kind of had a bearing as well. In July 2025, while nonchalantly ambling to work on a standard Thursday morning, I fell down some late 17th Century steps in our town, maybe fifty metres from my office. When, I say fell down – I didn’t fall from top to bottom – I mean it was slippery from a very recent rain shower and both feet completely went out from under me (I actually remember seeing my feet in front of my face – I think I must have been horizontal…?). And to save myself, as one does, I put my left hand down behind me, which was forced to take the considerable weight of my entire body.

Honestly, giving birth will reign supreme as the most painful thing I have ever experienced, but breaking my wrist? That was hands down (hands down, heh-heh) a very close second. I remember I screamed. And kept on screaming. I forced myself to have a glance at my injured arm and I was nearly sick; yep, a classic ‘dinner fork’ Colles fracture (dinner fork in that my arm, bent as it was, resembled the shape of a dinner fork. Nice). No ifs nor buts, that bad boy was broken. Another chap came by on his commute to work and hesitantly offered to help – hoping no doubt that I’d say no – and luckily for him, I did. Still sobbing, I haphazardly dragged my phone from my bag and rang my boss. Like I say, she was only a few metres away and is a nurse – so I thought that was my best bet. We’ll call her Jackie (because that’s her name), and she came running out with my other colleague, who we’ll call Kathryn (also her name), to find me in a groaning, snotty heap at the bottom of the steps. I don’t remember a great deal about this time, thankfully, but I know Kathryn ran off to fetch her car and kindly drove myself and Jackie to the nearest Minor Injuries Unit (MIU). I know – in between crying and swearing – I briefly went into shock in the front passenger seat of the car (poor Kathryn must have been beside herself). And I also know the normally short drive to the MIU in the next town took an absolute age due to another road accident – just my luck. I’ve no idea what happened to that particular casualty and I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave it to him or her to write their own blog about that. If they’re able.

On arrival at the MIU, the attending nurse was pretty upfront about what little they could offer me, but it was felt best I was wheeled in anyway, and they could ring me an ambulance from there – since the big District General Hospital was over 10 miles away and we were in the middle of morning rush hour. The nurse rapidly gave me gas and air (there was no other pain relief available than that) and felt for a pulse. There was no pulse. Wonderful. And off she went to phone for an ambulance – I could hear her saying, ‘threat to limb‘ which is never a pleasingly pleasant phrase to overhear about oneself. But in hindsight, I now see that as a good thing since the ‘threat the limb‘ thing meant the ambulance was there in minutes. Now, as good as gas and air is (I mean, it ain’t great – but it sends you into this kind of trance which is better than screaming in agony), it was only aboard the ambulance on my way to the general hospital that they really managed to get the pain under control. Morphine is what you really need – and I did. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to get a cannula in (my usually big veins, which I pride myself on, had decided to bugger off due to the shock, I guess), the marvellous morphine could be given. Unfortunately, morphine makes me vom – but luckily I knew this – so they administered an antiemetic along with it (an anti-sickness drug). The pain was manageable after that – down from an excruciating 1000/10 to about 6/10. After another seemingly slow and miserable journey, we arrived at the general hospital where I wound up on a stretcher in a kind of holding corridor with other fairly serious casualties – my lovely boss and the lovely ambulance crew waiting with me. But luckily I wasn’t there terribly long at all before two equally lovely nurses took me into the emergency department proper to first have an X-ray (which showed the fracture that was not a surprise to anyone). I remember the male nurse said, ‘oh, you’ve realllllly broken that‘), then I was whisked off to have a manipulation.

Jackie assures me the nurses looked positively gleeful about doing this – it appears to be one of those procedures that A&E staff get excited about. Obviously, like you, I’ve seen this done on TV and I was extremely anxious it was going to be horrendous – fearing the relentless screaming may start again. But I was given another kind of inhaler a bit like gas and air but WAYYYY better, and the two nurses set about pulling my arm from both ends to straighten out the bone. I have to say, I did not find that painful at all. And it was after the manipulation that the pain really went away. So another x-ray ensued to ensure the manipulation was successful (it was), then I was hurried off to the plaster room to fix that sucker in place.

Now this break was not the kind that would heal itself – it required an ORIF (open reduction internal fixation). Normally, one would be sent home to await this operation – that can be up to two weeks (which seems crazy to me to leave a bone broken that long, but I don’t make the rules). But I don’t know if they were being particularly nice to me because I was a nurse, or I was just lucky, but there was an opening on the operation list for the very next morning. Yay! So I stayed overnight and went down for surgery (without getting bumped) at about 10:30 the next morning. I was awake during the op, opting for local blocking pain relief, and I remember the two surgeons whispering to each other, ‘this is very challenging…‘, which was exactly what I wanted to hear. But they repaired it, told me it was a good fix, however it would never be the same again (again, yay!). And I ended up staying three nights in hospital overall, to have IV antibiotics and such. I just want to say, before I go any further, that the NHS is an amazing thing and we are very, very lucky to have it. I already knew that, but when you’re a patient instead of a clinician, you really see it for yourself. Nobody is saying the NHS is perfect, but I had thousands of pounds’ worth of treatment and didn’t have to pay a penny. Think on that.

I’m going to fast forward a bit as this is sounding like a long and boring list of things that happened. But suffice to say, I thought, ‘oh well, I’ve broken my wrist and things will be shite for a few weeks, but then I’ll be back to normal’. Well, that didn’t quite transpire. Almost as soon as I went home in a cast I knew something wasn’t right. My hand felt like it was stuck in a vice, a block of wood that was crushing the limb beneath. I went back after a couple of days to get them to change it as I thought it was too tight, but the second cast didn’t feel much better. Even when the POP came off (after two weeks), I couldn’t hang my hand down by my side – it would just throb unbearably, go numb, and become purple and mottled. At night my hand would burn and felt like the skin was about to split open. I just put it down to swelling at first, but I couldn’t help but feel there was something more going on. Luckily for me, my lovely sister-in-law, we’ll call her Debbie (you know the drill), was running buddies with a hand surgeon. She showed her a photo of my two hands down by my sides (pictured) with the stark contrast in colour and appearance. And the hand surgeon, before even seeing me in person, diagnosed a classic case of CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) and pulled some strings to get me in to see her about a week later. It’s important you know this, CRPS is relatively rare, but I wonder if that is in part due to the fact that so many people are misdiagnosed. I was one of the lucky ones.

So, there I was with a secondary diagnosis – one I’m not ashamed to say I’d never even heard of. And if you haven’t either, let me explain. Like I say, it’s a rather rare phenomenon (a doctor at work told me he’d only ever seen two cases in his whole career, and he’s in his sixties); a persistent and chronic condition when a limb – usually a hand or a foot – develops persistent pain often after an injury, and the pain is disproportionate to the injury that caused it. The symptoms can include, well…pain, swelling, changes in temperature, oversensitivity, numbness, increased sweat, and hair or nail growth on the affected limb. It’s not all in your head, it just happens after trauma, and nobody knows why. 85% of people improve within the first year of experiencing symptoms, but 15% go on to experience symptoms for longer. Research suggests that the nerves in the affected limb are much more sensitive than other nerves of the body, and the way the brain communicates with the affected limb changes. The only treatment is physio (I’ve had extensive specialist hand physiotherapy), drugs to counter neuropathic pain (I’m still on those), and some people need psychological interventions to come to terms with living with a chronic condition (nobody offered me that…ah well, two out of three ain’t bad). It’s pretty serious; some people have it so badly and for so long that they opt for amputation of the limb. I read one article on CRPS with the subheading, ‘It’s not called the Suicide Disease for nothing!’. OMFG!! Get the hell off of Google, now!!

So, I have this diagnosis now. I’m eight months in and there has certainly been an improvement, but I still have the condition. I still need the drugs (when I try to wean off, the numbness becomes near constant). I still have difficulties in my function. In the early days it made me feel very low as I couldn’t help but feel this condition would never go away; I would never have the full use of my hand. It felt like a disability. To start out, I couldn’t drive (after thirteen weeks I began to drive again but it can still be painful if the journey is long and there are too many gear changes). I couldn’t do much of anything using my arm at the gym (but I am now very nearly up to full strength, but my wrist needs to be strapped very heavily). And for a while I couldn’t touch type and had to use the Microsoft dictation tool (which is utterly shite, by the way), but I can now type again – it still aches after typing for too long, though. Like right this moment, whilst writing this blog (I hope you’re satisfied). I’ve recently been discharged by the physio and, at the end of last year, by the fracture clinic, and I’m just hoping when I hit the year mark, my hand will feel normal again. But I have to be honest, I doubt it. Sometimes it’s still numb and burns, especially at night; it can still be mottled in colour and my fingernails are indeed different on the affected hand. The range of motion in my wrist has improved, but flexion and extension (bending the wrist back and forwards) are still painful if pushed too far – I don’t believe those movements will ever fully return to normal. Like I say, I was pretty down about it, but it’s amazing how one can get used to a situation. And I have to remind myself it isn’t as bad as it was; it no longer stops me doing what I need to do. Oh, and just for good measure, the NHS kindly offered me a DEXA scan (bone density test) since I’ve had two fractures in the last five years. And in spite of working out for years, in spite of eating a very calcium-rich diet, in spite of taking calcium tablets and not drinking or smoking, my bone density is lower than it should be. Woohoo!! Man, I have just lucked-out lately!!

Anyway, I’m okay. In spite of the dread still lurking in the back of my mind that if I dare fall over again I might shatter something else (my daughter says I have ‘bones like sand’), but I get by. So long as I can work, drive, go to the gym, and do my yoga, I’ll not complain. Not too much, anyway. I can do all those aforementioned things. Other people have it worse. But what I will say, is don’t take your health for granted. Just a second of inattention and something terrible can happen to take it all away – at least for a while…at least I hope it’s only a while. Go careful, my friends…

PS: I have a new job! I won’t go into detail just now, but I start this coming Monday and I’m cr*pping myself. Who doesn’t love being the new girl…? 😳